Peter Blegvad's work contains some of the most oblique
and poetic wordplay ever to make its way to song. An
affecting singer and a fine guitarist, Blegvad has an
uncanny knack for creating literate lyrics  a golden
triangle of emotion, intellect and humor  and
combining them with enduring melodies. A restless spirit
that displays no patience for cliché runs through
all of his work. And while Blegvad has hiked with many
stellar companions, he has always blazed an utterly
personal trail. It's a testament to his hard work and clear
vision that, though his references can sometimes be too
arcane, literary or personal to be widely recognized, his
work is generally friendly and inviting. This is in no
small part due to a dry wit and a voice which can bring
forth everything from anger to vulnerability with a folkish
naturalism. Which is not to say that Blegvad's a
folksinger, just that folk music's dictum of celebrating
the natural, honest resonance of everyman's voice is the
path he follows. Further testimony comes by way of his
songs having been covered by, among others, Fairport
Convention, Leo Sayer and Bongwater.

Born in Connecticut but living in England, Blegvad
started Slapp Happy around 1971 with Anthony Moore, whom
he'd met at boarding school, and singer Dagmar Krause,
Moore's wife. On the liner notes to the trio's first album,
Sort Of, Blegvad wittily tags the band as
"champions of Naïve Rock, the Douannier-Rousseau
sound," which pegged them perfectly  sort of. With
its slightly discordant guitars, deliberately simple lyrics
and Dagmar's naturally doomy voice trying to come off
winsome or chipper as the song may demand, Sort Of
is willfully naïve and, at its worst, a bit
affected.

At its best, though, the band was refreshing, diverting
and sometimes moving. Nearly a decade after the release of
Slapp Happy's eponymous second album  which contains
the song "Casablanca Moon" but does not bear that title
 the band issued its original demos as Acnalbasac
Noom. It's a gem from start to finish. Blegvad crafts
some wonderful, offhandedly literary lyrics while Moore
provides sophisticated tunes to match. (As the group didn't
contain a drummer or bassist, the group employed the rhythm
section from Faust, not that you'd ever guess.) Although
there are some songs in common, this is an entirely
different album from Slapp Happy, which was recorded
using anonymous studio musicians and features some
ambitious (but odd) string arrangements. In 1993, British
Virgin confusingly reissued Slapp Happy and
Desperate Straights on a single CD as Casablanca
Moon/Desperate Straights, omitting Henry Cow's name
 which had appeared on the latter's original
cover.

Following those three records, Slapp Happy and
labelmates Henry Cow  a symbiotic blend of art and
politics united by equally offbeat sensibilities about
musicmaking  joined forces to produced a pair of
highly rated albums. It was a confederation from which
Blegvad was ejected for not fitting in. (Slapp Happy had a
reunion of sorts in 1991 when British television
commissioned an hour-long opera, Camera, which had
music by Moore, a libretto by Blegvad and was performed by
Krause. It aired in 1993, but was not issued on either
album or video.)

Back in the UK, Blegvad pursued a solo career. Andy
Partridge's production of The Naked Shakespeare is
entirely too slick and busy. Only the songs given
relatively simple arrangements are delightful, particularly
"You Can't Miss It," "Vermont" and the pensive title track.
Also noteworthy is the chilling rape-nightmare of "Irma," a
mostly spoken piece set to Eno-ish ambient synth.

Engaged by Virgin in an unabashed effort to sell Blegvad
to UK pop radio, David Lord (Peter Gabriel, etc.) did a
spectacular misproduction job on Knights Like This.
(Shades of Phil Spector's off-base pairing with Leonard
Cohen.) Like Cohen, Blegvad is an idiosyncratic writer
whose songs work best in uncomplicated settings. Here, most
of his luminous lyrics are lost amid the overwrought pop
arrangements, full of strings, backup choruses and
synthesized percussion.

Resident in New York in the '80s, Blegvad hooked up with
various musicians working the downtown scene that
eventually coalesced around the Knitting Factory. As a
member of Anton Fier's floating Golden Palominos, Blegvad's
songs helped shape the identity of 1986's Blast of
Silence album. Blegvad also contributed to Syd Straw's
1989 solo album, long after they'd both flown the Palominos
stable.

In comparison to Blegvad's first solo efforts, the folky
and countryish rock settings (there's even a Louvin
Brothers cover) of Downtime are much more apt for
the intimacy of his music. Chris Cutler (ex-Henry Cow/Pere
Ubu), Tony Maimone (Pere Ubu) and members of the Lodge
(which includes former Henry Cow bassist John Greaves,
Blegvad's brother Kristoffer), provide warm backing to a
set of powerful songs, including the hilarious "Card to
Bernard" and improved readings of two songs from the
Palominos' Blast of Silence. This splendid album
closes with the whimsical bossa nova of "Crumb de la
Crumb," a self-deprecating poke at Blegvad's own
obscurity.

King Strut puts it all together for Blegvad,
combining the warmth of Downtime with the pop smarts
of his first two LPs. Partridge produced three tracks (not
two, as indicated on the label), including the unfortunate
closer, an irritating reprise of the title track. The rest
of the album receives sympathetic treatment from Chris
Stamey (with whom he'd worked in the Golden Palominos), who
brought in ex-partner Peter Holsapple, rekindling a
collaboration that led to their 1991 album. The
treasures of King Strut are five mostly acoustic
pearls on Side Two, particularly the deeply
romantic "Northern Lights" and "Shirt & Comb." (As part of
its promotional effort, Silvertone issued Peter Who?
, a disc of live and demo versions as well as an
infuriatingly catchy jingle, sung and played by Andy
Partridge, which teaches the correct pronunciation of the
singer's name: "Peter Blegvad, rhymes with egg-bad.")

Performed as a trio with Greaves and Cutler (with
notable help from Peter's guitarist brother Kristoffer and
pedal steel player B.J. Cole), Just Woke Up is the
first proper American release of Blegvad's solo career. A
masterpiece of confident simplicity, produced with rhythmic
intricacy but exquisite clarity and nuance, the album is a
perfect introduction to Blegvad's work, rescuing three
Knights Like This songs from under the layers of
production that originally buried them and including a
remake of the Golden Palominos' "(Something Else Is)
Working Harder." Blegvad's easygoing delivery  now in
line with thoughtful semi-acoustic artists like Simon
Bonney, Leonard Cohen, Daniel Lanois and Peter Case, but
with a bit of recent XTC around the edges  smoothly
paves his reflective, philosophical musings. "It's a full-
time occupation leaving well-enough alone" begins "You
& Me," and what follows suggests Blegvad's incapacity
for that intellectual job. In "Bee Dream," which ends in a
shattering feedback freakout, he observes, "Each of us has
in our soul / A portion of eagle, a portion of mole,"
while "Driver's Seat" asks "There are two kinds of people /
Ask anyone you meet / Would you prefer to be a passenger /
Or in the driver's seat?"

Blegvad has worked in Greaves' Lodge, with whom he
recorded Smell of a Friend; the two also
collaborated on Kew.Rhone, a dense song cycle, and
Unearthed, a set of Blegvad's stories (many of them
already published in a 1994 book, Headcheese) told
over a variety of musical backdrops. In London, where he
currently lives, Blegvad is less widely known for his music
than for Leviathan, a weekly cartoon he draws for
The Independent.